On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.

When I love most, love is disguised. In hate; and when hate is surprised, in love, then I hate most.

Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was of us, Burns, Shelley, were with us. They watch from their graves!

Truth is within ourselves.

I trust in Nature for the stable laws Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant And Autumn garner to the end of time. I trust in God,-the right shall be the right And other than the wrong, while he endures. I trust in my own soul, that can perceive The outward and the inward,-Nature's good And God's.